


Sometimes It's Complicated

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: ''The prerogative of command'.  It was a pretty basic concept, he'd always thought; strict, perhaps, but not overly complicated.  He'd grown up with his father preaching it.  It had been drilled into him at West Point.  Major Kingston had made a particular point of it most recently.  But now Lieutenant Craig Garrison was discovering the subject was perhaps a bit more complicated than he'd previously considered.  Well, he was finding out that was true of any number of things.  Of course, 'complicated' wasn't necessarily a bad thing.  Sometimes, in fact, 'complicated' was pretty damned good.
Kudos: 1





	Sometimes It's Complicated

They were being sent in to snatch a Herr Rudolph Gelman, a physicist currently residing in Geneva, though no one knew quite why the Allied big shots wanted him so badly, or at least they weren't sharing that with Lieutenant Craig Garrison. Not the why, not a hell of a lot more that he thought he was entitled, indeed, NEEDED to know. Never mind it was his neck, his men's necks, on the line, and every bit of information was important; that what was being left out might be just the one piece of information that would let them pull this off and come back alive. But, no, according to the Handler assigned to this job, all that just wasn't any of Garrison's business!

The Handler, Major Kingston unfortunately, made it quite clear the prerogative of command allowed him complete discretion as to what information he should provide. He also felt that concept should have precluded the annoying young lieutenant from being so insistent once HE had declined to provide any further information

Garrison's continued efforts to find out more, his expressed qualms about kidnapping someone residing legally in a neutral country, were thrust aside by the sour Major Kingston, and the interview had ended with Kingston once again firmly reminding the young lieutenant of just WHO was in charge of directing this mission!

"I would have thought you would have become familiar with the concept of prerogative of command while at West Point, Lieutenant Garrison, as well as the concept of 'need to know'. I am currently in command of you and your, ah, men, such as they are, and I have already given you everything you or any other competent Team Leader would NEED to know! You have the target and his location - that should be quite sufficient! Perhaps Richards or some of the others are in the habit of coddling you, maybe humor you to the extent of providing the brand of toothpowder your target uses, but I am not so lenient with such nonsense. No, you have what you need to know! Now, go and do your job. I have other matters to contend with."

Garrison was having a hard time keeping the crispness out of his own voice. Avoiding the whole ridiculous notion of any 'coddling' coming from Major Kingston, or, indeed, any of the Handlers, he focused on the need for more specific information.

"Major, I understand about the prerogative of command, I assure you. Never mind my own training, my own experiences, my father was a career military officer, and he was quite adamant about that particular subject. However, having sufficient information is going to be vital to the success of this mission."

Garrison could see the stubborn refusal in Kingston's face before he even finished speaking. 

{"I know they're shorthanded with so many out, either with the flu or for other reasons, but I'll be damned glad when we get some of the regulars back. Then they can pull Kingston back to his regular duty; as a Handler, he's one of the worst I've known, and I've seen some bad ones! It's almost like he doesn't WANT us to get the job done, for some reason."}. 

Garrison knew that wasn't, couldn't be the case, no matter how little he and the major saw eye to eye, but sometimes, he just had that feeling.

"Lieutenant Garrison! I know you seem to prefer to complicate matters, but there is nothing complicated in this assignment! Just locate the man, and bring him here, alive, well, and able to talk! End of discussion - dismissed!" 

Garrison was tight-jawed as he walked out of the meeting room. He hadn't ASKED about the brand of toothpowder this Herr Gelman used. He HAD asked for whatever was available - history, family and friends, habits, any special weaknesses - all things that could prove invaluable in catching the man off guard or luring him away. But no, all he had to work with was a name - Rudolph Gelman; occupation - physicist; a general description - dark, medium height and build, no distinguising marks, and an address in Geneva. 

"Be just as likely to end up snatching his second-cousin, who'll turn out to be a violinist with the local symphony come to browse through the sheet music in the library, while this Gelman is off at a weekly chess match with friends at the local! Wouldn't Kingston be thrilled with that, us bringing back the wrong guy??!" Garrison was heard to mutter as he headed down the stairs. 

In the car, headed back to the Mansion, Garrison tried to remember what he knew about physics and leading physicists. Unfortunately, that wasn't all that much. Although he had once thought it might be an area worth studying, he'd set that thought aside early on, and now found himself at a disadvantage. Certainly Gelman's name didn't ring any bells. 

"If I HAD studied physics, gone into that field, I'd possibly be able to recognize him, might even know him well enough to pull off a con to get him out of Switzerland," he grumped, before he listened to himself and had to laugh. If he'd gone into that field, he'd hardly be in a position of being ordered to kidnap the man, now would he??! He'd be living quite a different life, most likely.

He thought back to how he'd told his sister Lynn, when he was in his first year of college, that he might take up the study of physics. 

She'd gaped at him and asked him "physics?? Why??!" 

He'd replied enthusiastically, "because there would always be something new to learn, something new to discover." Well, he HAD heard those upperclassmen discussing the subject, and THEY certainly had seemed enthralled, mentioning those very things. They had seemed quite excited at the prospect, and the idea had struck a note with him.

"But are you INTERESTED in physics?" she'd asked, bewildered.

Well, that was a reasonable question, since he'd never searched out classes in any of the sciences beyond what was required. Languages, yes, and he had an outstanding talent for absorbing new languages. History, certainly. Math, as well.

And art, of course, though he'd only audited those courses, and even those very unofficially, after a private discussion with the professors in charge of the classes (but only those professors who were known to be particularly understanding and very discreet), so there would be no official record of his attendance. Yes, it was complicated, but necessary.

Lynn knew, because he trusted her not to say anything, but he was careful not to let their parents find out. Luckily, neither had questioned just how many meetings of the Chess Club there seemed to be every week and at such varied times!

He knew their parents, especially his father, would explode at the notion of Craig 'wasting his time' participating in something so frivolous as the study of art and drawing and such. Even that odd course with Professor Milford got some stern questions from the retired military officer, but since that WAS a course in the military prep curriculum, the elder Garrison had grudgingly agreed Craig could continue with it. 

Of course, Craig's father had made sure to MEET with the Professor and let the elderly Bostonian know he expected the course to be "practical" and "of real benefit to an officer", not "some artistic nonsense that's just going to confuse the boy! Hard enough to keep him in line as it is! Takes after my wife's side of the family, unfortunately, though there's no such nonsense with her. Quite sensible she is, not that I'd have it any other way, of course. Never would have married her, otherwise." 

He'd even made Craig attend that meeting, just to make sure there was no misunderstanding as to how he really felt about such foolishness even being offered someone destined for a military career. 

Of all the ways his father had managed to embarrass and humiliate him through the years, that was in the top ten or so for the younger Garrison. After all, Craig greatly admired the professor, after even a short acquaintance, eventually coming to think of him as one of the smartest men he'd ever met.

Luckily for Craig, the elderly Professor Milford found Garrison fils to be as bright and engaging as he found Garrison père to be stodgy and obnoxious, so the meeting went far better than expected by any of the participants. Both of the older men left feeling well satisfied that they'd come out the winner, though Milford had been careful not to let that satisfaction show. No, that wouldn't do at all!

He'd figured out after just a few words how Garrison thought about things - there were no 'conversations between equals', there were only 'engagements with adversaries', there were winners and losers in any 'engagement', and Garrison had no doubts which HE would, indeed MUST be! The trick would be to let Garrison THINK he was the winner, without that actually being the case.

Professor Milford really didn't want to risk losing Craig as a student. He'd rarely met anyone he wanted to mentor during his many years of teaching; after all, it was a great deal of extra work and he already had a very intense schedule. But this young man was something quite exceptional, had such remarkable potential. Yes, this last year before he retired from teaching, he would take the time to help this young man grow into his potential, a potential so unexpected in the son of such prim, grim and dour parents. {"My goodness, that does sound like a law firm, doesn't it? 'Prim, Grim and Dour - We Specialize In The Unpleasant'."} He had been careful not to let his amusement show; he much doubted Garrison's father would appreciate the levity.

Garrison senior left, confident that he'd explained to that professor what was expected. He had no doubt that his requirements would be met; he'd certainly made them clear enough. After all, part of the prerogative of command was making sure everyone knew just who was IN command, and he was sure he'd made that quite clear to this Professor Milford, just as he had made it perfectly clear to Craig through the years.

As he explained to his wife later that evening, "and why wouldn't he cooperate, after all? I'm sure he should appreciate someone from a military background clarifying just what was and wasn't important for him to be delivering. 

"A course in 'Art and Military Tactics'! I have to wonder at how that even got into the curriculum! I mean, it's not like Chess Club, which I agreed to because that has both strategical and tactical benefits! Well, the man has tenure and is due to retire next year; perhaps they are simply placating him. I'll keep a close eye to make sure he doesn't start preaching any nonsense, that's for sure!" 

Mrs. Garrison had nodded and agreed. Their son was enough of a disappointment as it was, never quite meeting the level of excellence they set for him; they didn't need any know-it-all college professor distracting him from the values they were trying so hard to instill. 

Heaven knows, they couldn't have him turning out like her younger brother. It was bad enough the nonsense her own MOTHER had been known to tell the children; they'd both talked to her, Mrs. Garrison and her husband, scolded her for telling Craig and Lynn such foolish stories - fairies and elves and all that sort of thing - and letting the children pretend right along with her. Such a bad influence!

And yes, it was wise for her husband to keep a close eye on what was being taught in that class! After all, she knew that Professor Milford, at least casually, through various committees and other endeavors, and though he came from a well-respected Bostonian family, there was just something too avant-garde in his manner of thinking and expressing himself to be quite pleasing. 

While she, as a proper lady, never discussed politics or social issues, or listened when such was being discussed in public, of course, she was quite sure Professor Milford would hold equally inappropriate views in those areas as the ill-advised ones she had encountered during their previous disagreements. She certainly didn't want him expressing any of those views to their son. 

Why, the man had actually argued with her once, challenging her to explain WHY she took a particular position, and when she had declined to do so, had asked whether those were indeed HER views or someone else's, perhaps her husband's! As if that mattered! After all, her husband had already explained the proper side of all the relevant issues of the day, and she saw no reason to doubt he was as correct in his views there as he was in all else. She had always found that a matter of some considerable comfort, not having to bother with all of that herself.

Craig had been limp with relief after the meeting was over. He'd made his excuses, "have to hurry to get to my next class!" and disappeared down the hall as quickly as he could. 

Actually, he'd skipped his next class, spent the time trying to unwind and get his thoughts together in the cafeteria over a cup of coffee. 

He was pretty much required to attend that class, since he'd already registered and everything; to back out now would make him a quitter, something even his FATHER could never countenance! But he really WANTED to attend that class! Somehow, he had the oddest feeling that it could change the whole rest of his life!

But he hoped it would be a long time before he had to sit through anything as uncomfortable as that meeting between his father and Professor Milford. After all, he wasn't twelve anymore! 

{"Twelve? Where did that come from? Oh, yes, that was the LAST time this happened, my science teacher and Father and the 'discussion' of what was appropriate to be teaching in a public school! I had to sit through that one as well. Father pulled my paper on the morality or immorality of political eugenics out of my bookbag, AND the one on Darwin and his theories and how they supported or contradicted Malthus and HIS theories, thumbed through my books, and hit the roof! Mr. Jolsen never DID really forgive me for that! Even the school board got into the act after Father complained! The school board sided with Mr. Jolsen in the end and didn't THAT go down well at home! And somehow, it was all my fault!"}

{"And the complications! All the extra work involved! What with Father insisting on seeing every paper I turned in for that class, it was a real challenge. Well, what with writing one HE'D approve of, echoing all of HIS views, and then turning around and writing one to actually turn in to Mr. Jolsen, one he would accept and give me an A on, that was one heck of a year! Of course, it gave me some real experience in playing a double game, so it was probably good training. Still, it was one hell of a year, and sometimes I had to sit and really think, to figure out just what I really believed about a topic - me, not either of them, and sometimes I didn't really agree with either of them! Sometimes, I even ended up writing a THIRD paper, one that said what I really WANTED to say, though I made sure to keep those up in the attic where Father wouldn't ever see them. I was just lucky Father accepted that story of "Mr. Jolsen doesn't give back the marked papers, says it would be coddling us. That we would get told our grade, and it would show on my report card, that's all."}. 

After all, if there was one thing Craig's father disapproved of, (well, along with the thousands of OTHER things he disapproved of), it was coddling, so that had worked well enough.

He'd taken a glum sip at his rapidly-cooling coffee, looking up as a shadow formed on the table in front of him. Glancing up, he leaped to his feet. 

"Professor Milford!" 

{"Is he going to kick me out of class? I guess he could, easy enough; we're only a couple of weeks in. Doggone it, I really WANTED to study with him! Maybe if I apologize? For me for causing the problem AND for Father, for being - well, for being Father? But would that be disrespectful to my father, and would Professor Milford be upset about that?"}

The Professor laughed gently, reading that total confusion, remorse, the plea written so clearly on Craig's face.

"Sit down, Craig! I am only a Professor, not a General, you know. May I join you?"

And they talked through the rest of the hour, and any concern Craig may have had about that meeting destroying any chance he had of Professor Milford continuing to look on him with any favor? Gone by the wayside. 

In fact, the Professor had handed him a list of books to investigate.

"You might find these beneficial. The Hieronymus Bosch paintings can provide an entire education all on their own. Once you think you've seen all there is to see in one of them, Craig, try listing them all out, all the details. Then, wait a day, and go through the process again. Pay particular attention to the center fold-outs of the larger paintings; they show a great deal of the detail, though of course, nothing like what you can see should you have the opportunity to see them in person. It might actually take some time before you see all that is truly there, but it is excellent training, you know. Each time you perform an exercise like that, the quicker off the mark you will be, the more accurate in summing up a new painting OR a new scene or a new situation. That is a highly valuable skill in a military man, you know, to be able to see and understand a multitude of activities, a diverse variety of situations in a brief period of time. Actually, it is quite beneficial for ANYONE.

"And I have a small portfolio in my office, some sketches by a young graphic artist by the name of Escher. You are free to borrow them, study them during your study hall hour, in the library. I think you might find them intriguing. I made his acquaintance some time ago, and he is kind enough to send me a copy of each new piece he does. One day he will be quite famous, I believe. His mind works in the most remarkable way, and he has the skill to present things in a manner that gets you thinking in a manner which I call 'thinking outside of the box'. Return the sketches when your study hall is over, please; I would hate to lose them.

"Best NOT leave any of the books where your parents might get a good look; I have the feeling they would not approve. It would probably complicate matters for you. Yes, I am quite sure of that. Unfortunately, from meeting your father, I would say he is the epitome of the 'box' itself. And I have been casually acquainted with your mother for several years; SHE certainly meets that requirement, indeed takes great pride in that fact.

"However, Craig, YOU are not your parents. They are firmly entrenched on their extremely narrow road. You need to find and travel your own road; I think you might find theirs a very dry and dusty one. I have an inkling that if you seek out your own way, you will find it much more satisfying."

Now, as he passed through Brandonshire, he remembered how he'd answered his sister's bewildered inquiry. He'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor of the attic, their 'escape' room, studying one of the books his father would NOT have allowed in the house if he'd known about it.

"Interested? No, not really, not yet; the sciences have never really appealed as much as other things. But, still, it's complicated enough you'd think it would HAVE to be interesting once you really get into it! I mean, to know you have the potential of learning more, every day, maybe learning about things most people wouldn't even begin to understand! Would probably never even think to question, never look beyond what is laying there in plain sight, never even knowing there were layers upon layers just waiting to be discovered! Wouldn't that be something??!" he marveled, fascinated with the possibilities even if not with the subject matter.

She'd laughed, leaned over from her standing position to ruffle his hair affectionately, just like their grandmother used to, and told him, "Craig! Sometimes you're so silly! You don't have to study physics or anything like that! That would make you miserable! There's LOTS out there that would keep you interested, always learning. Find something, Craig. Maybe a lot of DIFFERENT somethings! Things you DO want to study and learn about! Don't limit yourself to just one thing!"

Well, she'd been right. He HAD found things he wanted to study, learn about - in college, then West Point, and on his own. Oh, and during the 'internship' with his black sheep of an uncle and his uncle's wife's family of con artists. 

The arrival of the war presented an opportunity to learn more, and to use what he'd learned. There was the need, the compulsion to see under the surface, understand the complexities, no matter how that compulsion fought with his earlier upbringing. 

That served him well, sometimes too well, in the jobs he was undertaking now, at least to hear his guys talk about it. Casino was particular vocal about Garrison's predilection for seeing and taking advantage of multiple opportunities that presented themselves in addition to the job they'd been assigned.

Now, this newest assignment, 'putting the snatch on this Gelman guy', as Casino so smoothly put it, that presented a new challenge.

Still, Garrison was a quick study, and he spent the three days prior to leaving going over everything he could to get at least a basic grounding in physics, enough to know the buzz words and major names of those in the field, anyway. Hopefully, he wouldn't need to display any of that, considering how superficial that knowledge was - about as thick as the skim on a mug of warm milk left to set for an hour or so, he ruefully acknowledged. But still, it was foolish not to get what he could, just in case it was needed. Sometimes even a few seconds of distraction could be crucial. He wasn't about to risk his men's lives due to laziness on his part.

He didn't need to use any of what he'd tried to cram into his memory, thankfully. Actor's numerous contacts had been invaluable, once again, Geneva being one of his old haunts, and it was discovered Gelman had a set routine, one he steadfastly declined to alter, come hell or high water. 

Garrison was somewhat, if perhaps a little reluctantly, in admiration of a man even more organized and disciplined than he was, though admittedly his team had a few other words beyond 'organized' or 'disciplined'. He did his best not to hear those words, and thankfully, they didn't say them so loud he couldn't pretend otherwise.

"It is said among his associates that one would always know the day of the week, could even set their watch, just by observing him going about his business, Craig. We should find it no problem finding the proper opportunity."

So the only issue was whether to try and take him while he was enroute from one place to another, or while AT one of his regular destinations. 

It turned out to be almost scary in its ease - the shortcut he habitually took from his barber to his mistress's house led through an alleyway with little traffic. Herr Gelman tipped his head politely in response to a similar gesture from a well-dressed and smiling man as they met at the far end of the alley, a quick blow once they had passed each other, and it was done. 

Gelman was bundled into the back of a car, swiftly changed into other clothing, forged papers in his pocket, and Garrison sedately drove across the border with 'dear cousin Edmund - not feeling quite well, you see', Chief, Goniff and Casino not two cars behind, Actor to follow after, and the rest was history.

"Major Kingston should be pleased, Craig. Aside from a slight bruising, Herr Gelman is in perfect condition, no one saw us take him, and it will be some time before the lovely Gisele reports him missing, I would think," Actor smiled with pleasure, him having distracted the lovely Gisele so that she really had no notion of Gelman's fate until long after the fact. Well, it WAS always nice to get the job done with no injuries and no real fuss, and a little sweet female companionship rarely went amiss.

Yes, Kingston should have been pleased, but if he was, it was only marginally so, from his reaction. After all, it was a toss-up which he would have preferred - Garrison's mission successful, since that would reflect well on Kingston too, as the Handler, enhance his reputation and access to areas he perhaps might not otherwise have - or Garrison failing, coming back in disgrace or maybe not coming back at all. That would have had certain positive results as well, if perhaps not to HQ, but to others, and admittedly, to Kingston personally.

After all, the major was playing a deep game, serving more than one master, and even he had to admit sometimes the multiple goals just didn't coincide. Reaching one goal could easily mean failing to attain another, and while there was always an opportunity for a lose-lose ending, there was rarely an equal opportunity for a win-win. Most frustrating to say the least, and far too complicated for his tastes. Frankly, he though he deserved much better, but obviously that was not to be the case, at least not for now. 

As for Garrison, he was just glad to be back, team hale and hearty, mission a success, and with the fervent hope that next time someone other than Major Kingston would be in charge of the mission. Someone with more sensible ideas about what the prerogative of command did or did not call for in the way of information released to a Team Leader.

He gladly shuffled all the research on physics and physicists aside, making room for whatever field of endeavor he might have to deal with next. 

Nothing had presented itself before the next mission showed up, and then the next, so, much unlike him, he had nothing waiting in the wings to capture his interest when he had need of it.

Now he was laid up with a sprained back from that jeep crash at the Base, (blast whichever bartender had overpoured those two privates, and whoever had given the two drunk young men the idea of playing 'chicken' with oncoming traffic!), and he was bored. He felt the need to be studying something again, letting his quick mind ferret out the complexities of a new situation, a new challenge to how much he could see and understand. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to garner the energy to start a new project, especially with his mind seeming to want to drift off to less than pleasant topics.

Frankly, it wasn't easy to focus on potential learning opportunities anyway, with all the racket down the hall. Yeah, they were at it again, and as quiet as the rest of the place was, with the way Rawlins had insisted Garrison keep the door to his bedroom at least cracked so he could call if he needed anything, Garrison could hear just about everything. 

He told himself it was best he DID keep track of what they were doing. After all, it was still his responsibility, making sure they weren't getting into trouble, plotting mischief or more. Lord knows Kingston had made a point of emphasizing THAT, before he'd grudgingly dismissed Garrison from the debriefing after the Gelman job. 

{"Kingston, again! I wish to hell I could get Kingston out of my mind! That was weeks ago, and he keeps popping up for some reason, and at the oddest times! He's hardly the most elevating or interesting thing to be thinking about! But there's just something WRONG about that man! Of course, in a way, I suppose I owe him. It was because of him and that whole 'prerogative of command' business that I ended up making such a fool of myself, learning a few things about myself in the process, AND delving into meditation. Who knew the whole thing could be so complicated?"}

Now, thinking about that 'prerogative of command', his father also came to mind. {"Talk about someone not being very elevating or interesting to be thinking about!"}. But think about him he did. His father, who also firmly insisted that a man was responsible for the things that happened around him, that it was his job to control events and the less-capable persons surrounding him. That if things happened that a man failed to control, it meant he'd failed in his responsibilities. 

But, Craig remembered just as well, Goniff had argued against that, mightily, that one time. Or was it the being in control, or just his search for perfection that Goniff had argued against? That was all more than a little fuzzy. The one clear (if just imagined) memory he had, one of his fondest, was of Goniff flapping his hands at Craig's parents, chasing them away like a pair of annoying geese.

Blast it, he now had THREE stern voices in the back of his mind, the annoying Major Kingston, his crisply disciplined father, along with the fussing and scolding of his resident pickpocket - all equally as determined to have him listen to them, pay attention to them and them alone. In fact, they were getting louder than the voices from down the hall. He resolutely shut them all out; well, at least the first two. He found too much amusement in that mental image of his pickpocket shoo'ing his parents along to erase that entirely.

And besides, he'd figured out, if somewhat belatedly - sometimes, where command and control were concerned, a compromise was possible, in fact, was often necessary. That recent episode, coming not long after the Gelman affair, had helped, had clarified things a lot, even if it had been more than a little embarrassing. 

{"'Embarrassing' - Is that a polite way of saying I made a damned ass out of myself?"}

*Two Weeks Prior:  
They had come back from a mission that had far too many moving parts, too many people involved - complicated almost to the edge of impossibility. He'd been strained to the limits of even his own considerable talents trying to handle that many reins, keep a firm hand on each and every piece of the job. There had been more than one point when he thought he could feel the control slip away, had held his breath til he was sure he had things back in line again. So many ways they could have ended up dead, too many times one tiny wrong movement would have ended up with one or more of them in the hands of the Gestapo. The tension increased, hour by hour, til Garrison thought he might shatter into a million pieces. Then, it was over, it was done, and they were on their way home again.

But somehow, after that, that razor-wire of tension, the need to be in total control, just hadn't gone away, if anything, even increased, like a spring-trap poised to clamp shut. Those words, 'the prerogative of command', the need for control, never left his mind anymore.

Then it all came to a head. 

He'd been on the edge of losing his temper with just about everybody ever since their return, and his disposition hadn't improved any for the continued lack of sleep. The previous night had been the worst of a stream of bad nights, bad dreams, and he was quickly running out of patience with the people around him. His jaw ached from the constant clenching of it so tightly.

Damn it, he couldn't carry the whole load, which is what it felt like was happening! Everyone needed to get with the program, and now! He was in charge and it was his responsibility to make sure it all went according to plan. And in order for that to happen, he had to maintain strict control. Surely they should be able to see that!

All he'd wanted was a little cooperation, a showing of equal effort on everyone else's part, but no one was helping, not in the least. It wasn't like he was asking them to be proactive, just follow his lead, or at least his direction. 

Actually, he felt it was much better if they DIDN'T get too proactive, figuring they would probably go haring off in a direction he'd just have to haul them back from. No, all they had to do was to listen to him, accept that he was in charge, go along with him; that would surely get and keep them going in the right direction.

But it would seem not everyone agreed. He'd spent the early hours, since well before dawn, working on his maps, then getting the reports in line in order to go over them with Rawlins and get them finalized to send up to HQ.

The guys had the day free, a reward suggested by Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins for coming through that last job so well and improving their scores on the firing range so dramatically. Garrison had agreed, but insisting on the usual wake-up time, not wanting them to get out of training. But the rest, yes, he'd agreed to that, not really wanting to take the time to deal with them anyway, but his mind wouldn't let go, knowing they were just wasting the hours, not doing anything worthwhile. You'd think they'd find something more productive to do than sit around and yak and play cards. 

He'd gotten impatient, hearing the laughter overhead; had climbed the stairs, stuck his head in to the Common Room and offered a few constructive suggestions. Not orders, exactly - no, since he HAD given them the time to use as they pleased, but still, he wouldn't be worth his salt as an officer if he hadn't explained how much better they could have been using the time. Something maybe involving improving their minds, or their skills. 

But they didn't seem interested in taking his helpful hints, even seemed to find his suggestions amusing, as indicated by that roll of the eyes he'd gotten from Casino. Exasperated, he'd left them to it, then, but just couldn't help closing the door to the Common Room just a little louder than he'd perhaps intended. 

Now, Garrison felt there had been no slamming involved, just a slightly crisp note as the door closed, despite Actor's patiently resigned voice filtering through, "does anyone know just why he is now slamming doors?" 

Frustration had made the seething Garrison pause momentarily on the landing outside, enough he heard that question, plus quite a bit more.

"Don't know, Beautiful, but he's starting to talk and act more and more like that asshole Kingston. Bout had it up to here with that whole 'prerogative of command' shit, I can tell you that. Hell, we know he's the boss! No one's saying any different, are they? What's his problem?"

Well, at least Chief and Goniff had protested that comparison.

"Yeah, he's acting like something's really eatin at him, Pappy, but he's no Kingston!" came from Chief quickly.

That was followed by Goniff's sharp, "don't be saying things like that, Casino! 'E's just got a lot on 'is mind, most likely, that's all. No way 'e's a ruddy prick like Kingston!"

"Never said he was, not yet, anyhow, but he's sure headin in that direction," Casino insisted. "Ain't gonna take him long to get there, either, hard as he has his foot on the gas!"

Garrison had wondered at Actor not speaking up, taking up the defense; perhaps there was a message there?

Well, he wasn't all that thrilled with any of them, the one complaining, or those giving that damned pitiful excuse for a defense. Frankly, he didn't NEED them to be defending him, especially as weak a defense as they'd given. And after all, it wasn't for them to be judging him in the first place!

Then there was that episode with Rawlins not two hours later. They'd been working on the reports, and the Sergeant Major had kept ARGUING with him over various points. Now, just who had been there, Rawlins or Garrison? Never mind the comment of "if you don't mind my saying, Lieutenant, sometimes an outside eye can see things from a different angle, you know?" 

Why the non-com thought he had a better idea of what had gone wrong on that last twist and turn, Garrison just couldn't imagine. One thing was for sure, he didn't appreciate the attitude! Perhaps he needed to remind the non-com of just who was senior here, who was in charge!

And it didn't end there. All he'd done was make a few comments about the Sergeant Major perhaps focusing on some improvements in his OWN area - the need for a different procedure for handling the files, maybe. Then he'd given some (admittedly blunt) suggestions about how Rawlins could improve the efficiency of the scheduling, and just a few other things, and he'd been pretty much asked to leave the Mansion by a harried Sergeant Major. 

Oh, it had been coached in much more polite terms, more on the order of "per'aps a little fresh air might do you good, Lieutenant Garrison. I'll just finish up those reports, shall I?" 

Still, the meaning had been clear, and just as clear had been the fervent, "sheesh! What the hell is WRONG with him these days??!" that had floated down from the open window above as he went out the front door. No, he hadn't slammed that door either!! It was just that the wind - oh, okay, so there hadn't been any wind, not even a faint breeze, but he STILL hadn't slammed the door. At least, not too hard.

Well, if that was their attitude, then FINE! Garrison spent the few minutes it took to get from the Mansion to the Cottage delivering a silent rebuttal to everyone he'd just left. 

{"Maybe I'll get a little more cooperation where I'm headed! I damn well hope so! Everyone's in a damned mood these days. It's like herding cats! You'd think they'd understand I have enough on my mind without having to correct them every step of the way! If they would just listen and just do what I tell them to do!"}

It turned out the Cottage wasn't all that much of an improvement, not in his current frame of mind. He'd marched through the metal gate, letting it slam shut with a loud clang, opened the kitchen door, and walked in. Yes, he probably did close that door a little more firmly than was necessary but perhaps his hand slipped. It happens.

His mood was not enhanced when he saw Goniff, having abandoned the rest of the team for a more enticing venue, perched sideways in one of the armchairs, one leg slung over the opposite side, other leg bent, his bare foot propped on the upholstered arm. The slender Englishman was rolling that ivory shadow ball, a miracle of complexity, around in his hands, squinting into the cuts, chattering away a mile a minute about how wonderous it was.

"Musta taken years, doing all those layers, all them little cuts! Wonder 'ow many they broke before they got it right? Or maybe your mum was right. Maybe it WAS put together by training ants to crawl in and do it," he was exclaiming with a grin on his face. "More likely magic, to my way of thinking. Can't see any other way, you know, not really."

"Oh, aye, laddie, I'm sure you have the right of it," Meghada had answered with an indulgent laugh. "Magic I'm sure it was."

Garrison frowned, throwing his cap into the basket beside the door. Sometimes, these two!

"Goniff, get your feet off the furniture!! And put that thing away before you break it! Meghada, I don't see why you let him play with that! Didn't you say it was hundreds of years old??!" 

Perhaps he was still using his outside voice; it DID rather echo in the small space of the cottage.

That got him an odd look from both of the others, and Goniff hadn't moved one little inch except to reach out and place the shadow ball in its holder on the table at his side, and that not so much a reaction to the reprimand but only to focus on the newest object of interest, Garrison himself. 

From the tilt of his head and the puzzled look, the pickpocket was finding the sight even more bewildering than his contemplation of how anyone could have carved such a ball-within-ball-within-ball marvel out of ivory.

"Craig, l have no objections to Goniff making himself comfortable, any more than I restrict myself from doing likewise; and neither the furniture nor the shadow ball is coming to any harm," Meghada had commented in a somewhat puzzled voice, and yes, now that he looked, Meghada was curled in the other armchair, music pad on her lap, feet tucked under her, her shoes sitting under the table to the side.

{"Well, FINE then! You'd think she'd be appreciative of my reminding him to have some manners, but oh, no, not HER! She's as bad as he is sometimes!"}

"Pour yourself a drink, Craig, and there's scones and sweet biscuits on the sideboard. You'll most likely feel better with something in your stomach," Goniff offered in a conciliatory tone of voice, an encouraging, even sympathetic look on his face.

Garrison glanced over and looked at the offerings. Bourbon bottle, glasses, scones and sweet biscuits on a plate. {"The liquor SHE likes, the treats HE prefers. You'd think there would be at least SOME thought for someone else!"} 

He felt the muscle alongside his jaw twitch in reaction to both what was clearly a patronizing attitude from Goniff and a lack of proper consideration from Meghada. There was a definite snap to his voice, even more than before.

"Thanks, Goniff, I have eyes! You know, Meghada, I swear, sometimes it's like you think bourbon is the be-all and end-all to everything! Don't you have any whiskey, maybe some Scotch for a change??! And scones and sweet biscuits, that's all? Don't you have anything else, maybe something that's not sweet??! Not everyone has the same sweet tooth that Goniff has!"

The looks he was being given, well, that should have brought him up short, but he'd been in a temper for some time now, had held it in for days, along with the ever-increasing tension, and this was the first time he'd given it free rein. Frankly, it felt damned good, and if they didn't like it, well, they could just deal!

Except that it seemed from the looks they were exchanging, they were neither one much in a frame of mind to 'just deal'. He decided it was time to give them his opinion on a few other things. He hadn't more than inhaled to really let loose, when he realized it wasn't going to go down quite the way he intended, him delivering a stern setdown and a few instructions, them nodding meekly and complying.

While Meghada just shifted to give Garrison an incredulous look, Goniff had smoothly uncurled from the chair, and stalked barefooted over to stand in front of him, placed one firm hand on the officer's chest, his quiet voice no less firm than his hand or the expression on his face.

"Excuse me, Craig. It seems you've forgotten your manners somew'ere along the way, maybe left them in the car? Maybe you need to pick up your cap, go back outside and find them, and then maybe come back in again. If you can't locate them, well, then you need to take your pouts and your temper and 'ead back up to the Mansion til you do. And - you're not ten, you know? - don't be slamming the door on your way out." 

There had been no give in that calm voice, that stern look, and Garrison was more than ready to tell the Englishman a good thing or two in return. {"Just who does he think he is, anyway? You'd think he was the one in charge . . ."}

But he didn't, that thought resounding, even reverberating inside him, leaving him more than a little shocked. {"Just who does HE think HE is? Maybe that's not the right question. Maybe it's more who do I think I am. Good grief, I'm in someone else's home, being offered hospitality, and I'm acting like my father at his most self-righteous!!"}

A quick look at Meghada, that raised eyebrow confirmed she was in total agreement with the firm reprimand that had just been delivered, and Garrison flushed, turned silently, bent down and snatched his cap from the basket, and left the cottage, though being careful to close the kitchen door softly, and not to let the metal garden gate clang behind him.

He made it to the car, and figured a cigarette was in order. That would at least give him the time to think about what had just happened, what had just been revealed.

He leaned up against the car, looking at the Cottage, letting his mind take it all in. It seemed that was one place he wasn't in charge, wasn't expected to be. Truly, wasn't going to be allowed to take charge and make whatever demands he wanted.

The question was, just how did he feel about that? Oddly enough, while that was perhaps a slightly-disturbing thought, it was also an oddly-freeing one. {"NOT in charge. NOT in command."}

By the time he'd finished the cigarette, the scowl on his face had been replaced by a far more thoughtful look, one indicative of rather deep introspection. 

Another cigarette, {"NOT in charge. NOT in command??"} and he could feel the tension start to release for the first time since that last mission. No, he didn't have it all figured out, but it was interesting, to say the least. Could an officer actually be relieved at not being in command? What the hell??

{"Not in charge. Not having all the responsibility. Not having to point the way, keep it all in line. At least not here. And maybe, not everywhere else either; at least, not all the time. Maybe the prerogative of command isn't universal, isn't even always relevant to a situation. Okay, sometimes I need to be in control, like on the jobs, sure. Sometimes someone is in control, but it's not me; that happens often enough at HQ. Maybe, even inside here, though I'm not sure that's what they were saying, not really. Maybe, sometimes, NO ONE has to be in charge? Is that possible??"}

He felt muscles relax that he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding taut for way too long, and drew a deep breath, realizing that was something he hadn't done recently either.

{"I'll have to tell Gil that he was right; some fresh air really does help."}

Of course, that wasn't all that had helped, and he knew it, giving a rueful look at the Cottage. 

Now, it was a matter of asking forgiveness and making amends with the two inside. It was going to be embarrassing, maybe, but it was only fair, and frankly, he wasn't willing to lose what lay within those walls, what lay between him and those two inside, just because of his mistaken pride, his channelling of his father's arrogance.

{"Manners! Goniff was right; HE wasn't the one forgetting his manners, it was me, and not for the first time today, or even in the past week! I imagine Gil and the guys would agree with that! I have a few fences to mend with them as well."}

He knocked softly at the door, not just barging in like he'd done the first time. The door opened, Goniff standing there, a questioning look on the smaller man's solemn face. 

Somewhat sheepishly, Garrison admitted "I found my manners, Goniff. You were right; it seems I left them under the seat in the car. May I come back in? Maybe we can try again? If you and Meghada don't mind?" 

His smile was a little hesitant, but then, his level of confidence wasn't all that high, not after that scene he'd made. In fact, he'd looked a little more like that ten-year-old Goniff had compared him to than he'd ever realize.

A quick smile of welcome greeted all that, and Goniff stepped back, waving Garrison in, closing the door behind him. 

"Come along in, then. 'Gaida will pour you some whiskey, and is fetching a thing or two from the pantry that might be more to your taste. Would've 'ad more out to begin with, you know, Craig, but we didn't know you'd be 'eaded this way this soon. Thought those reports would take a lot more time." 

Evidently, from the way Goniff was chattering now, and from the quick forgiving kiss Meghada dropped on his cheek, there were no lingering hard feelings. A glass was placed in his hand, and he settled into one of the armchairs, salted nuts in a bowl at his side along with a couple of cheese and pepper scones, letting the other two carry the conversation for awhile before joining in. 

And eventually, later in the evening, he'd talked about it, at least as much as he understood of what had happened and why. Enough they were able to offer ways to cope when the pressure got too much, hopefully without alienating everyone he came into contact with. He sure hoped so, anyway.

He really hadn't liked that comparison Casino had made between him and Major Kingston, especially when he could now see the justification for it. And while Goniff hadn't mentioned Garrison's parents, well, HE knew he was exhibiting traits from both of them, and wasn't THAT a lowering thought! And being compared to a pouting ten year old indulging in a temper tantrum hadn't been overly pleasant either, even if it had been rather apt.

He'd left the Cottage in the morning with Meghada's recommendation of trying meditation lingering in his mind. {"That just might be worth a try, though I imagine Casino's going to have more than a little to say about it."}

Well, along with her calm assurance of "we don't expect you to be perfect, Craig, never think that, any more than we ask that of ourselves."

Of course, there was Goniff's inevitable followup, "acourse, we don't expect you to be a ruddy ass, neither," getting a laugh of agreement from all three of them, Garrison's more rueful than the others.

*  
Now Craig stretched cautiously, not wanting to set his back to spasming again, as it was likely to do if he wasn't careful. The voices from down the hall were distracting him from his thoughts once more. 

Well, that was probably just as well. It was boring as hell just laying there, and listening to the guys was better than counting the flyspecks on the ceiling for the twelfth time OR thinking about Major Kingston or his parents or his own failings.

He was hoping Chief would come wandering in with the chessboard, like he had last night. That had been an engrossing hour, one Garrison had enjoyed quite a bit. The young man was learning fast, ended up taking the board with a remarkably clever move. No, he couldn't put it down to HIS being distracted; the young man really was getting that good!

But now it seems his guys were engaging in their usual wrangling back and forth, and this time it seemed he was the subject of their discussion. {"This should be good. At least, I hope so."}

Meanwhile, in the Common Room -

"Where on earth did you get these, Goniff? No, no, I KNOW you got them from the Library, but why these?" 

Actor looked at the small stack of books. Actor had to admit one or two the selections would most likely be greatly appreciated by Garrison, but the rest did have him a bit puzzled.

Goniff shrugged nonchalantly, "wouldn't 'ave, not for myself, you know. Not quite my style; aint much for the 'eavy lifting," ignoring the sounds of amusement he got from Actor and Casino.

Chief had just raised one wry eyebrow at the comment and those now being made in reply by Actor and Casino, thinking plenty but keeping his thoughts to himself.

{"They fall for it every time. One a these days, they're gonna wise up, but sure thought it woulda been by now. Neither of a them is dumb, Pappy or Actor, but they let Goniff play them like a piano. 

{"Sometimes, though, I gotta wonder who's really playing who. Maybe it's all of them, least part of the time. Almost like chess, that three-dimensional kind Meghada plays - seems like there's things going on at a whole lot of different levels, all at the same time. 

{"Casino and all those magazines, like what he's got sitting over there on the chair - gotta wonder which ones he really likes, what really turns him on, and which are just for show - maybe trying to prove something to us, maybe even to himself? Know some of them are just to get Goniff off on a tear; he gets that look in his eye when he's setting the man up. 

{"Actor and all those stories of his about all the beautiful women and high-class living - sounds real enough, but sometimes I gotta wonder.

{"Goniff - well, who the hell knows what's real and what isn't with him? Maybe Meghada has a good idea, but I figure even she doesn't know the half of it, but at least she KNOWS she's not seeing the whole picture, not yet. Casino and Actor? Nah, not so much.

{"Entertaining as hell, I gotta say that,"} bringing his attention back to the discussion going on at the table.

"Yeah, really? Woulda thought that 'Hieronymus Bosch - Truth, Simplicity, and Complexity' would be right up your alley!" quipped their safecracker.

"That one actually was quite well chosen for someone with the Lieutenant's specialized interests, Casino, surprisingly so," Actor chided him. "I've heard him mention Bosch as one of his favorites artists for study. But I'm still curious as to why you thought to select these. The Audubon portfolio, the two of botanical drawings, the others?"

That faint flush that had appeared at the first teasing became just a bit deeper, and the pickpocket was taking care not to meet anyone's eyes as he responded. Somehow his answer seemed a little too fast, too glib.

"Well, you know 'ow 'Gaida's a knowing one. Seemed she'd 'ave a right good notion or two. You know 'ow the Lieutenant can look at something and SEE things the rest of us maybe don't. The more moving pieces, the more complicated, the better for 'im. Those looked like there was a whole lot going on - might give 'im some practice while 'e's laid up, that's all. Aint much one for just sitting still, you know. 'As to at least 'ave 'is mind working on something. Lot like us, that way; can't 'andle being bored for too long."

Garrison was getting a little eager for those books to be delivered. Goniff was right; the O'Donnell woman WAS a knowing one. They'd discussed many a subject, and her knowledge of books and art approached Actor's in depth, though frequently with a twist of some nature or another. Yes, she could have pointed Goniff in the right direction, without a doubt.

He lost track of the conversation momentarily, though, as he recalled what Sergeant Major Rawlins had told him when bringing him his lunch. 

"And the phone lines are STILL out! 'Ave been since yesterday this time. Constable Miller dropped by to warn us it could be another day or so, maybe longer. 'E'd stopped by to tell the O'Donnell miss, as well, but seems she's off somewhere, according to the doctor. Seems Major Richards sent for 'er early yesterday, right before everything went silent."

Now why did that seem . . . Garrison sent a puzzled glance toward the door. {"None of that seems to mesh with what Goniff's been saying, not the timing anyway. Of course, he didn't actually say he TALKED to her; more, he gave the IMPRESSION he had. Nice little bit of misdirection, though, if the suggestions hadn't come from her. But does that mean HE picked out those particular books all on his own? Now, wouldn't THAT be interesting?! He's obviously paying far more attention to my maunderings than I realized."} 

He strained to pick up the conversation.

"Goniff's right about him getting bored; he don't handle it too good. Can't help with the books, but thought I'd try him on another game of chess later, if he wants," Chief was saying, and Garrison was in hearty agreement with that idea.

"Yeah, well, I figure he might like a round of poker. Not as easy playing on a bed as at the table, but hey, beggers can't be choosers. We could manage. Maybe win back some of what he scooped from us last time. Man's getting too good, ya know. Liked it better when we could read all his tells, and he hadn't figured out any of ours," Casino grumbled good-naturedly.

"That is not a bad idea, Casino. We all must do what we can to keep him occupied; otherwise we will find him at the bottom of the stairs trying to get back to his office," Actor admitted.

Casino snickered knowingly. "And I got something better than that crap Goniff pulled out for doin that! Here, THESE should keep him occupied!" and there was a slight thump as something hit the table - a small selection from his prized 'library' of well-diversified erotic magazines. 

'Well-diversified', that was the term Meghada used for it. Actor tended to describe that collection as 'eclectic', whatever the hell that meant; Goniff had a few other words for it, some of them rude as hell if Casino was understanding that Cockney cant right.

The safecracker had made a supply run to the 'specialty shops' last trip to London and picked up a half-dozen new additions to that 'library'. Well, he DID have a reputation to live up to, a rep he'd taken great pains to build. 

One or two of the new ones he figured he'd actually enjoy, along with that one he couldn't wait to spend some time with. The rest, though, they were a lot like some of the other stuff in his library, brought in just to watch the jaws drop around here. 

Well, not everyone's, maybe, not so much. Usually Chief would just look bored, or sometimes embarrassed, even at the real mild stuff. Mostly the kid just ignored it all, though giving Casino a really odd look sometimes, one that made Casino wonder just what was going through the young man's head.

Shouldn't've been, not with the show Casino put on, but sometimes he got the feeling Chief had figured out that 'library' of exotic magazines was just part of the 'rep' Casino liked to have. Yeah, some of it was good, real entertaining, (though he wasn't gonna say which ones!) but some of it? Casino wouldn't've tried some of that shit on a bet! No matter what Goniff claimed, the safecracker did have SOME sense!

Beautiful, now, he'd look through the offerings, but HE liked to pretend he knew so damned much, that he'd seen it all, was beyond being shocked or even surprised. Would bring up some fancy comparison out of some book he'd read, or painting he'd seen, or some shit like that, all calm and professorial about it. The game there was to look for that flicker along his right eye, the one that came real close to one of the con man's poker tells. Casino could always tell, pun fully intended, when he'd hit the mark with the conman; that always tickled him.

Still, those two weren't nearly so much fun to unload any wild new material on as Goniff. For some reason, it was just so damned much fun to pull the little Limey's chain, and these would do that, for sure, well, at least that last one or two. Probably would have even without the notion of loaning them to the Warden, but Casino knew that would be the real kicker. Goniff was gonna hit the ceiling!

Casino wasn't sure why Goniff was so damned protective of the lieutenant, even more than he was over Chief; probably just part of that mile-wide Mother Hen streak of his, but this would get him going for sure! 

{"Probably get me thumped on the head, but it'll be worth it to watch his face and hear him squawk!"}

'How Do I Love Thee, Let Me Count The Ways' looked all poetical and pretty on the outside, fancy lettering, that dame all prim and proper in the old fashioned dress sittin' on a sofa holding a book in her hand, dreamy expression on her face. Sure SOUNDED like it'd be some of that high-tone poetry shit Beautiful was always spouting. But oh, boy, some of those 'ways' she started counting off were real attention-getters, and the dame hadn't kept that dress in place for very long; neither did any of the crowd she was having such fun with! 

And 'Bambi', along with her 'friends'? That one was really waaaay over the top, in more ways than one! He'd really lucked out finding THAT one!! Carson didn't usually handle stuff like that, said it came in by mistake in that last order!

Yeah, this was gonna be a gas!!! 

Now he waited, looking totally nonchalant, while the guys got a good look at his offerings.

"Casino, I really doubt the Lieutenant will . . ." Actor protested.

"Now don't tell me he can't find SOMETHING in there to interest him, Beautiful! Went through and pulled out a little of everything, ya know!"

"Yeah, Pappy, I'd say you did. You sure some of this stuff is even legal?" Chief said, with more than a little dry amusement in his voice as he obviously thumbed through the offerings.

"Look, Indian, since when have we all been overly concerned about shit like that?" Casino argued.

"Well, that is perhaps true of US, Casino, at least on a job, but the Lieutenant is not 'us', now is he? Nor are we talking about a job. And I sincerely doubt your idea of appropriate reading material is something he is accustomed to, at least not to this degree. You DO tend to have rather imaginative tastes in such, you know," Actor declared.

Goniff joined in, and he seemed annoyed at the direction things were going.

"Coo, Casino! W'at next? You gonna bring in a couple, three whores to 'entertain' 'im?" 

There was the sound of pages being flipped, then a disgusted snort from the pickpocket.

"Some of this would set 'im back two weeks or more in 'ealing up, probably, just from LOOKING at this stuff! 'Let Me Count The Ways!' Don't know as 'ow I can count that 'igh, from the looks of it! 'E's a recovering invalid, Casino, not a ruddy contortionist!" 

Goniff's voice had gone up a notch or two, in volume and in pitch while delivering all that.

Casino just looked bored, just waiting for the pickpocket to pick up that last magazine. {"Yeah, 'Bambi' should do it!"}

Suddently Goniff's voice pitched higher, louder, even more indignant than before. 

"Ruddy 'ell, Casino, this one's got sheep!!!!! Casino, sometimes you aint got the sense . . ." 

Garrison heard the smack all the way from his bedroom as his pickpocket slapped the offending magazine across Casino's head.

And they were off and at it, all four of them, and Garrison found himself torn between wanting to shout for them to shut the heck up, and wanting it to continue since it was all highly-diverting. 

Oh, and he was a little curious about that reading material that had been selected for him. 

Not Casino's, no, not really. Well, not much, though the comments had been rather thought-provoking. {"Maybe just a quick browsing if they do show up. And surely that had to be hyperbole on Goniff's part! - sheep????"}

But the rest, what Meghada supposedly had suggested (though that still seemed a little off, considering what Rawlins had said about the phone lines), the chess game, the poker game, plus what Actor had outlined earlier of what erudite discussion he had in mind - all that sounded like it would be worth his time.

By the time the accumulated riches had been gathered and delivered, however, he'd fallen back to sleep. He only discovered the stacks of reading material on the bedside table when he woke up for dinner.

What with browsing through an item or two {"damn! Those ARE sheep!"} and a thoughtful game of chess with Chief, he had to regretfully postpone that hand of poker as offered by Casino. 

He drifted off to sleep, trying to make various puzzle pieces fit, and finding some just weren't the right shape with the picture in his head. That those puzzle pieces involved not just the pictures from the books AND magazines, but also the puzzle of his men, those others they were involved with, even himself - that was intriguing, to say the least, especially when counterpoised against his earlier thoughts. 

Sometime in the night, certain things slid into their proper place, and when he awoke, it was with a smile of self-amusement on his face.

No, he didn't need to be studying physics. He just needed to be studying Meghada and her family, and the locals, and a myriad of other interesting individuals he'd come across, along with Goniff and the guys, of course. 

Particularly Goniff, Garrison thought, because understanding that man had the potential for being more challenging than physics ever could be! His pickpocket was a lot like that ivory shadow ball of Meghada's, perhaps simple and uncomplicated at first glance, but once you really looked, layer upon layer upon layer of complexity, where the reality was something you only got a brief glimpse of here and there before it shifted right under your eyes. Why, that was an area of study that could take Garrison the whole rest of his life! 

His smile got even wider, finding that a rather satisfying thought, indeed, comforting even, something he was really looking forward to if the Fates were kind enough to keep them both alive long enough.

Talk about learning something new every day??! No, physics couldn't hold a candle to living and working with these guys! Major Kingston was right about one thing at least; Garrison did like things complicated. Well, at least sometimes.

Now, breakfast having been brought to him on a tray, and him being given strict instructions to 'stay in bed and get some rest', he'd started browsing through the offerings on his bedside table. MUCH more entertaining than counting those flyspecks!

Chuckling to himself, Craig Garrison had to admit it really would take a contortionist to get in some of those positions in one of the magazines Casino had provided; that is, if he was right about which limb belonged to which body, and that wasn't always an easy determination. "Let me count the ways, indeed!"

And he still didn't know what to think about those sheep, or the other assorted barnyard creatures featured in that one magazine along with that happy-natured blonde with what had to be at least a 50" bustline and only her underdeveloped twelve-year-old sister's wardrobe to draw from! 

"Hmmmmph! 'Bambi And Her Barnyard Friends'. Casino, there's 'well-diversified' and there's 'TOO well-diversified'! And those 'friends' might have been real enough, but I'm none too sure about Bambi, or at least, her 'attributes'!"

The botanical drawings had been surprisingly engaging, what with the tiny print and odd script; it had been an intriguing exercise to study, then try and duplicate in his sketch pad, all the details included there. Bosch was an old favorite, and he'd welcomed looking through the paintings again.

By late afternoon, though, he'd pulled out his sketchbooks for another reason, the sketchbooks with the pictures of his team, the Sergeant Major, Meghada, and so many others, to revisit the gradual knowing they'd brought to him, about the men on his team, about others he'd come to know, at least somewhat. Amazed once again at how complicated those individuals had turned out to be.

By the time Actor stuck his head in the door and sternly reminded him that he needed to get some sleep, Garrison was shaking his head, chuckling to himself.

"And what is so amusing," Actor asked.

"Oh, just thinking about that Gelman job, remembering how I once thought I'd maybe study physics. I've decided it's probably best I decided against it; I imagine it would have been boring as hell in comparison. No, I'm lucky I found something much more stimulating, much more challenging to occupy my mind."

Actor raised his elegant brow. "Oh, and what might that be?"

But Garrison didn't answer, just chuckled once again, and carefully slid down into the covers. 

"Good night, Actor. Tell the guys good night for me, okay? And - tell them thanks, too!"

Actor shook his head as he closed the door behind him, was still shaking his head when he walked back into the Common Room.

"Problem, Beautiful?" Casino asked from where he was clearing the round table from their card game.

"No, not a problem. It is merely that sometimes I am quite puzzled by how the lieutenant's mind works. Ah, well. He is going to sleep now, said to tell each of you 'good night' and 'thanks'. No, he did not specify for what."

"Probably figured he didn't HAVE to say; I mean, it's pretty obvious. See, I told you he'd like all the stuff I picked out for him. ALL the stuff," Casino bragged smugly, slyly glancing over at Goniff, just waiting.

"You didn't put that one with the sheep back in, did you, Casino??! After I told you not to??! Ruddy 'ell, you did, didn't you!!! Just 'ow's the man supposed to get to sleep with all that stuff running around in 'is mind??! Sometimes, I swear, you don't 'ave any sense at all!"

And it all started up again, enough Garrison fell asleep chuckling at the argument going on down the hall.


End file.
